Make It In This Land
by happyinchintz72
Summary: What if Brittany was a future scientific time travelling genius? What if Kurt and Blaine had adopted a young Irish boy in a Children's Home in America? What if that boy was Auntie Britt's favorite? What if one day he walked the halls of McKinley High?
1. Prologue

**Title: **Make It In This Land (Prologue/5)  
><strong><span>Word Count<span>: **~3,100 this chapter  
><strong><span>Warnings:<span>** AU (kind of) with touches of canon. Cracky (and hopefully heart warming) ridiculousness  
><strong><span>Rating:<span>** PG-13  
><strong><span>Summary:<span>** What if Brittany was a future scientific time travelling genius? What if Kurt and Blaine had adopted a young Irish boy in a Children's Home in America? What if that boy was Auntie Brittany's favourite? What if one day he walked the halls of McKinley High circa 2011?

**Author's Notes**  
>This is WITHOUT A DOUBT the crackiest most silly thing I've ever written but, please, bear with me. You only need to watch Rory's very first scenes and there IS something unsual about him, something hard to pin down... and DON'T tell me that his shock at seeing Finn was through Youtube. He'd notice his Uncle Finn anywhere ;) Watch Rory in every single scene when KurtBlaine are involved (especially Perfect) and I dare you not to believe in the idea a little bit ;) Plus, who has interacted with him the most? Finn, Blaine and Kurt.

I saw so much discussion about it, I got a little excited, I had tons of ideas and sat down and wrote. There's not much canon, in truth, to do with Rory but what we have got makes for THE most incredible ideas... and, of course, I shall play with them. I really REALLY hope you like it and can see past the sheer ridiculous notion enough to believe just a little ;)  
>The title comes from the first thing Brittany ever says to him :)<p>

Big hugs go to **whenidance** for her wonderful help and enthusiasm.  
>FYI, I know there have been a few attempts at this kind of thing but nothing I've seen is the same and I hope I haven't tread on anyone's toes. I've had notesideas for this for around a week but never intended on writing it until today. There's enough room for all the crackiness, right?

* * *

><p>It was weird. In fact, it was more than weird but thinking about it was just going to make it harder and brains were not formed to withstand the crazy amount of insanity that was... well, time travel.<p>

She'd explained exactly what to do and her smile had been so iridescent and so easy to trust. Her hair was a shimmery kind of blonde like a mermaid or some otherworldly enchanted creature. Only the most precious of people had eyes of cyan that didn't just sparkle, they glittered with sincerity and the kind of wonder only the purest heart could hold.

Growing up, she'd always been a big presence in his life. She'd taught him to dance, her blonde hair always piled into the neatest pony tail and her words of wisdom stuck with him forever. They didn't always make sense, if he was honest, but sometimes he'd experience something and her unusual phrases would spring to mind and somehow everything would become clear. She was a genius according to Auntie Tana and no matter how many people called her dumb or stupid, he knew she wasn't. In fact, now he had proof.

Aunt Brittany. She'd always been beautiful too and who couldn't fall in love with someone so magical?

That was the problem, Rory thought, as he stood stock still and half in shock. He'd had to come up with some sort of explanation for his sudden appearance and his accent had come in handy, of course. Exchange student was a perfect cover story.

There was nothing like the luck of the Irish to fall back on.

He smiled thinking of his dads and precisely how terrible they were at copying some of his phrases. He'd never lost the twang no matter how long he'd spent in America and thank goodness because the very moment she skipped into the lounge, her bag swinging at her ankles, he knew he was seconds away from losing his cool.

She beamed, asking no questions and threw herself at him with a wonder-filled gasp. As soon as her arms curled around his neck and her trademark pony swung to tickle against his cheek, it was been so difficult to swallow down the lump in his throat. She smelled the same. It was a strange but potent mix of flowers and candy, which was not only comforting, it was so specific to her that it was difficult to separate the two versions in his head.

_Two versions._

He was time travelling.

Oh holy Jesus Mary and Joseph.

It couldn't be real.

But it _was_ and she was so close, so full of smiles and adorable comments about him being a leprechaun and a magical sprite sent to grant her three wishes that he'd agreed in an instant because you just couldn't deny Brittany anything. Auntie Tana often said so and it was true.

She stepped back, hands on her hips and lips pressed together. She was wearing chap stick with tiny dots of glitter and he smiled, warm and wide because no matter how crazy his eventual and inevitable revelation of the truth would be, she'd understand. She _had to_.

She looked so _young. _Her cheeks were tinted pink with the softest blush, eyelashes fanned out so prettily as she spoke with her trademark smile. He'd always known it could end wars and dissolve depressive thoughts because nobody – _nobody – _was quite like her. She was crazy pretty, hot, gorgeous, sparkly, fizzing with energy and just like sunshine.

At his dads' parties, he'd spent most of the time in a corner marvelling at how the entire 'friends of the family' clan contained so many beautiful women. Auntie Rachel had hair that most girls would sacrifice themselves for and Auntie Mercedes had the brightest smile in the world. It was Auntie Brittany that had his heart though and she, above everyone, was the kind of girl he wanted to love forever.

He'd messed up, though. He'd listened so intently, mostly staring at her lips as she'd explained in simple but outlandish terms that the trick to using the car – the freakin' _time travelling car_ – was faith. You had to _believe _and it'd take you wherever you need to go and, most importantly, _whenever _you needed to go.

He'd laughed it off, believing it all to be a game but she was so certain that no matter how completely daft she seemed, he'd still felt his skin shiver as she'd closed the door. They were only supposed to be playing, imagining and fooling around because it was what they _did; s_o he'd obeyed her every word and secretly pushed down the niggling realisation that her inverted genius may have miraculously created scientific history.

The belief part had been easy.

For as long as he could remember, life had been a little unusual. He had vague memories of Ireland. Most of them were of the greenness of it, the beauty of the rolling hills and the lilting accent of his relatives who were all a distant memory now but who seemed to have no interest in him. How could they have?

His mother had been blonde with a small but tight smile and she'd smelled musky and spicy like an abandoned Christmas. They were all half forgotten memories now because it was too hard to let them fill him up; they weren't allowed head space never mind heart space because she hadn't wanted him. She'd been young and confused apparently, entirely unsupported and alone with no other choice. He'd never understood why – not _really_. His records spoke of an unplanned pregnancy at a very early age and poor financial circumstances, not to mention a disapproving family. She'd sent him away and he'd lived in Cincinnati with her elderly, and also Irish, Aunt and Uncle until they'd chosen to give him away too. They were flimsy memories now too.

It was then that life had spiralled out of control.

"You'll find someone," the first lady at the first home had reassured him. Aged three, he'd known that her words were empty. She didn't have a pretty smile and she touched like she was handling a magazine or a vacuum. He was another object to her, another bothersome kid. Nobody looked at him and understood. He could remember her clinical, medicated smell and it still made him cringe to this day.

He had no father to speak of according to his biological relatives and he'd only stolen a few glances at his records to know that there hadn't been one in the picture at all.

He'd watched Home Alone at Christmas and clung to a cushion, praying that he could be so brave and inventive. He'd passed toy shops and longed to be like one of the dolls or Action Men because they were special and cared for. Someone claimed them and kept them for their own. He'd seen enough of Toy Story to know that no kid discarded the things they loved – not really. He'd be cherished and someone would love him and keep him.

Hopefully forever.

It wasn't his lot in life, though. He'd seen kids at the Home come and go so quickly that they'd hardly had a chance to unpack what little belongings they had to their name. He was there long enough to memorise the number of ceiling tiles in the dining hall.

It wasn't until the following Christmas that everything had changed for good.

~o~o~oOo~o~o~

"Rory," Mandy called, peering around the door frame and grinning that awful fake grin, "you have someone to see you." She was wearing her awful pink jumper, the one that scratched when she brushed against you.

"Why?" He'd always been a confident kid on the outside. You had to be when friends didn't just _happen_. You had to work hard and grab things for yourself because if you didn't then you were _really _alone. You played solitary in the sand pit or finger painted with only one pair of hands.

"Because, Rory. Come on. They're nice people. You'll like them."

He glanced up at her, blinking rapidly. "Can I take my hat to show them?" he asked, full of promise and hope. There was nothing more precious. It was all he had and all he still clung to.

"Of course, come on." As she ushered him out and into the hallway, other kids ran past playing what seemed like an elaborate game of tag with bandanas. They screamed, laughing as they rounded the corner and almost knocked a tall stranger off his feet. His eyes widened, fingers clinging to the coat sleeve of another slightly shorter man. He smiled though and laughed, eyes crinkling. "They're kids not aliens, Kurt."

"I can see that. I'm just," he shook his head, exasperated like the women who served lunch and huffed when you spilled juice, "not used to so _many _of them. I'm not surrounded by them on a day to day basis like you, Mr School Teacher."

"I know," the smiley man said with a chuckle. He looked like one of the faces in a picture book, the happy ones that made you feel warm inside. "But just relax, ok? They're little human beings and they've all been through a lot so we need to be as calm as possible. Just be ourselves, ok?"

The taller one who wore boots like the Prince in a fairy story, nodded with a smile. He looked comfortable now as he let his fingers relax and stood tall with a sigh. His eyes were kind. They weren't scary, not like he appeared at first, and they flashed with something cosy when he looked at the smiley man.

"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Rory," Mandy said simply, her rough hand pressing into his back. He twisted away from it and knew he was grimacing but she was so bossy.

The man in the boots laughed, pressing his fingers to his mouth quickly. Rory watched him, eyes resolute and wide but it was the smiley man, the one with some bright coloured knot on his neck, that spoke first.

He bent down, offering his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Rory. I hope it's ok that we came to visit you."

They were a strange couple. Usually, it was a man and a woman and they'd take him for ice cream or to a museum but he never enjoyed it – not really. These were two men who acted like the other couples and smiled at each other just the same.

He nodded, clutching tighter to the hat at his chest. "Hello. Who are you?"

The man in the boots looked nervous. His eyes flickered all around but the smiley man kept looking at him, his fingers still in mid air as if they were meant for something.

"I'm Blaine," the smiley man explained, patting his chest and setting his coloured knot wobbling at his throat, "and this is Kurt."

"Blaine?"

"Yes. And Kurt."

Rory frowned, looking up to the person he now knew as Kurt. "I'm Rory," he said with more force. He'd always been taught, even through his difficult upbringing, that you had to be polite. 'Manners don't cost a penny' his Aunt Josie had explained on countless occasions.

Kurt glanced at Blaine, his eyes wilder now as if frightened. He didn't seem the kind to be scared. As he lowered himself down to rest on his knees, he inspected the floor and wiped at it before settling forward and offering a hand too.

"It's very nice to meet you, Rory. I um, I like your hat."

"I glued this on." He gestured to the embellishments just above the rim.

"You did?" Kurt asked, eyes like saucers of milk but still warm. "Where did you get it?"

"My grandma sent it over from Ireland. They moved there when they got old. They used to live here. I lived with them."

Blaine threaded his legs together and sat down gently. "It's a cool hat. Kurt likes hats, you know?"

"Really?" Rory gasped, stepping forward without a moment's hesitation. "Do you make them too?"

Kurt smiled and his eyes crinkled like Blaine's only he seemed to be much more careful and thoughtful. It was tricky trying to work him out.

"I do. I make other things too. Other clothes."

"Did you make those Prince boots?"

Blaine laughed and his eyes sparkled. He looked as if he should have been the one wearing the prince boots. "No," Kurt smiled, leaning into Blaine a little. It was as if he needed to somehow, like he had to rest against someone. He didn't look the type to _need anyone_ either. "I bought these boots but I make other clothes and hats. Hats are my favourite things to make actually. May I?" he asked, holding out his fingers again.

Touching was weird. None of the other men and women that came to visit touched and they were always so annoying like they were trying so hard. They didn't need to, not really. The women like Mandy would always press your shoulder or push your back but nothing else.

Nobody hugged or held hands.

Thinking carefully, Rory pushed his lips together and looked away. They seemed trustworthy. They didn't look like thieves – they didn't have black and white stripy clothes so they was a big giveaway – and Blaine had a nice smile so he wasn't going to steal it or hurt him. Plus, Kurt looked as if he'd run away if someone said 'boo' to him so Rory smiled and held out his arm between them.

Kurt seemed to breathe out for some unknown reason but took the hat in his palm and twirled it. He touched it like other people would a puppy, petting the sides and smoothing his hand over it lovingly. He looked friendly and Blaine stared at him with another crinkly smile.

"Do you know what they call these hats, Rory?" Kurt asked eventually, balancing it on the end of one of his fingers. They were long and looked gentle.

"No."

"It's called a bowler hat. They were created a long long time ago in England-"

"I know England. I lived in Ireland. I'm Irish."

"Really?" Blaine looked fascinated, as if he'd just said something amazing.

"Yes. But I'm here now though."

Kurt smiled, idly smoothing the rims of moss green. "You are, and did you know that they were created to help men on horseback when they were riding under trees so they didn't fall off?"

"Wow."

"So," Kurt sighed, passing it back carefully, "it's a special hat but you made it your own so it's even more special than it was before. It's fabulous now."

"Fabulous?" Rory tried, the word sounding weird on his tongue. "I don't understand."

"It means amazing," Blaine explained, shrugging gently. He didn't look like the tutors when you got something wrong or didn't follow; they'd scowl or huff and puff like dogs when they're tired. Blaine didn't. He kept talking. "It means it's great because _you _made it and now, nobody else will have one the same."

"Like this?" Rory asked, hands reaching to tug at the coloured knot. It was nothing he'd ever seen before.

Kurt seemed to hide his laugh but Blaine took a breath and nodded, his head tilting back to offer more room. "Yes. Kurt made this for me actually. It's called a bow tie."

"Bow tie?"

"That's right. It makes me stand out just like your hat does."

Rory stepped back, grinning to himself. They were nice. They talked differently and looked like something from a story book with funny knots and boots and tales about England but they smiled a lot and didn't force or push.

_Blaine and Kurt._

_Kurt and Blaine._

He swallowed hard, realising he'd said their names out loud. Mandy chuckled beside him and he frowned, embarrassed. "So, Rory, would you like to spend some time with Kurt and Blaine? They have the afternoon free."

Some of the other kids had suggested that they should play Pirates in the playground but he looked at Blaine's smile, all wide and funny, and he couldn't help but notice how Kurt had his fingers clenched into Blaine's sleeve again.

"Yes."

There was a moment of breathing out and Rory knew he was smiling wider than anyone else as Kurt suggested they go use the art room while all of the other kids were playing.

"We can make something fabulous to go with your hat. Blaine can draw. He's good at that and we can make it look pretty. Does that sound fun?"

Nodding, Rory stared at Kurt's fingers. Nothing about them seemed scary so he reached out and held tight, careful not to drop his hat when Blaine walked close on the other side.

~o~o~oOo~o~o~

They'd always talked about McKinley High and the fated way they'd met and the _belief _part had been so easy because he wanted to know them _then_.

They were the ones who had wanted him. They'd kept him, cherished him, loved him and given him everything he'd ever wanted and sometimes it was difficult to look at them, so sure and strong, and see how they'd ever been young.

They _always _had the most incredible advice, borne out of experience and times they'd always described as being difficult. Still, those times they spoke of seemed to also teach them more about the world than anything else they'd experienced. They hadn't told him everything but he knew enough to understand that High School had been the most defining part of both of their lives and it was there that they'd met.

They'd saved him. They had single-handedly turned his life upside down and given him the family he'd never allowed himself to wish for so there had been no other time and place he'd wished to see more than McKinley High and Dalton Academy circa 2010.

That time had defined them both and there was an odd sort of desperation to _know _them better that buzzed under his skin. 'Always asking questions' they'd say, laughing. Blaine would smile to himself, sometimes reaching out to ruffle his hair and tell him that he was unlike any other kid because he was 'special'. Kurt would always agree, adding that, no matter what, he should always remember that fact and hold it dear because being different was the best thing about him.

It wasn't until he glanced at Brittany's calendar and saw the year 2011 presented clearly that he panicked, worrying he'd missed it all, missed everything that made them who they were to _him. _

The plan was simple: stick with Brittany, try not to fall in love with her, find his parents and try not to wind up in some institution because, well... time travel.

* * *

><p><strong>~tbc<strong>

**Please let me know what you think :) It's a COMPLETELY new concept for me to write, something totally different and it's amazing practice for me. I'm working on a few things right now but I got far too excited for this that all other things are on hold ;)**

**Also, seriously, if you like the premise of this story, go watch all of Rory's scenes (especially Perfect because now, I can't watch it without semi-hyperventilating at the sheer sweetness of Rory's reactions!)**


	2. Chapter 1

**Title:**Make It In This Land  
><strong>Word Count<strong>**: **~4,300 this chapter  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kurt/Blaine, Santana/Brittany, Finn/Rachel (both future and present!) and cameos... and of course Rory!  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> AU (kind of) with touches of canon. Cracky (and hopefully heart warming) ridiculousness. Time travel.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Summary:<strong> What if Brittany was a future scientific time travelling genius? What if Kurt and Blaine had adopted a young Irish boy in a Children's Home in America? What if that boy was Auntie Brittany's favourite? What if one day he walked the halls of McKinley High circa 2011?

**Author's Notes**  
>Still the crackiest and most ridiculous thing I shall ever write. I'm completely enamoured by the whole thing though and just working it all out and re-watching the scenes has made me far too giddy! This Chapter is a little lighter on the KurtBlaine for reasons you shall see - basically Pot 'O Gold is the main canon we have for Rory so it's going to take 2 Chapters to get through it for it all to make sense. After that, it'll all follow the events in canon but it'll all be brand new to this story and _plenty _of K/B.

A massive and overwhelming thank you to **canuckpagali** for her insane amount of help with everything. Also, to all of you who left the loveliest response after the first Chapter : )

For those who asked - links for my LJ (where I post mainly) and tumblr are in my profile : )

* * *

><p>"So, Rory Leprechaun, what are you going to do all day while I'm at school? Because, you know, Lord Tubbington can't babysit you forever. He has work to do."<p>

There were so many things wrong with those words that Rory smiled, nodding along because truly, she was so beautiful. It was her fluttering eyes and her dimples and the way she leaned back against the fluffy pink pillows on her bed to let her legs sprawl causing her teeny tiny cheerleading uniform to ride up just a little...

He's a bad person. It was the only conclusion he could come to because it's a done deal in the future that Brittany is Auntie Brittany - the same lady who teaches him the quick step and how to pull of hip hop moves like no other. But she's also Auntie Tana's girlfriend and, if he's learned anything in his fifteen short years, it's that Auntie Tana is not to be messed with.

She'd always been sweet to him, sure, but the stories he'd heard about her back in the day are terrifying. Now he's here, back in the day_, _and she's around somewhere. She's living, right now, in this time as a sixteen or seventeen year old Auntie Tana - Santana Lopez to be precise.

She's a bitch, Kurt always said; he rarely swore but when he did, you knew he meant business. Both of his dads loved her really but it was a special brand of love, reserved only for her.

"I don't know," he answered after the longest period of silence. Others would have pushed him for an answer but Britt didn't. She lay calmly braiding the frayed edge of her blanket and humming a tune he didn't recognize.

"It's ok," she said, sighing softly, "I guess Lord T can take a day off but you can't go taking advantage of him. He has his own family to support."

With that, she slid off the bed, smiling not unlike Lord Tubbington after an enormous saucer of milk, and pressed play on her sound system. The opening beats of a Britney Spears song filled the room, loud and pulsing.

It was music he'd heard on radio stations playing 'the classics' and that was when it struck him. He was there – in the _past. _As if sitting alongside Brittany without her looking and acting like she knew him wasn't weird enough, the reality or _fantasy _hit him square in the chest as he watched her pirouette and shake her hips.

"So," he asked, his heart beating wildly, "Brittany, what do you do for fun?" It was _something. _He had to keep her close, to have her by his side because although this young version of herself had absolutely no idea about who he was, she was sure to never question him if he admitted it. Still, there was the worrying prospect of her parents finding out and declaring him certifiably insane or throwing him into the local asylum.

"Well," she called over the music, "I like to dance. I dance a lot." She spun in circles, her arms perfectly poised as if to jete at any moment – that was something else she'd tried to teach him. "I have an internet show called Fondue for Two but Lord Tubbington's not a very good publicist so I haven't had many guests." She stopped, arms still spread wide and suspended perfectly in mid air. Her eyes zeroed in. "_You _could be on my show. You could talk about the pain of being invisible to the whole world except for me and you could tell people all about your toadstool and magical kingdom."

"Oh." He nodded slowly, swallowing. It wasn't just crazy, it was pure madness and he had flipped. Crazy Leprechaun. Maybe he was. Maybe she was completely right and he wasn't in her teenage bedroom talking about her cat being a publicist, maybe he was rocking in a corner in some padded room in the future.

"I sing in Glee club too. It's so much fun because they're my family. Even though we fight a lot and say nasty stuff, we love each other really and we're going to be together forever."

He blinked back, frightened of himself for a moment. Glee Club meant his parents and that meant it was all true. It was quite possible that he was having an episode and any second he'd gasp, shivering, and sit up in bed with his hands fisted in the posh blankets his dad always bought but, still, what was a psychotic episode if it couldn't be taken advantage of?

"Your family?" he asked, pulling his legs up as Lord Tubbington crawled through the door. Brittany scooped him up, her fingers toying with his fur as he purred loudly.

"Yeah. There's Santana and Mike and Tina and Puck. Um, there's Mr Schue who's our teacher. He's kind of weird but we love him a lot. There's Mercedes and there's Kurt and now there's Blaine because of Kurt. They're dolphins so it's cool. There's Quinn too. She's one of my girls."

He couldn't move. Dolphins? Why was Blaine there _because _of Kurt? They'd told him about the bullying to an extent but they'd never delved into the specifics, they'd simply passed on the lessons they'd learned.

"Dolphins?" He tried to keep his voice still but, bloody hell, it was hard. No way was it normal to talk like this. The walls suddenly felt as if they were looming, like cardboard structures in an elaborate stage play or holograms in a particularly vivid day dream. As Brittany spoke, he watched her eyes glitter and shine and knew it was real. It _had to be_.

He could see the truth in them and surely that wasn't a dream.

"Yeah," she sang, walking her fingers up to Lord Tubbington's neck and scratching. He curled into her fingers happily, frowning up at Rory.

Maybe it could be a dream. Cats didn't frown.

"I mean, why dolphins? Kurt and Blaine, right?"

"They're capital G gay and so cute. Oh my god, you should see them when they wear matching clothes. Kurt's such a unicorn though and I look up to him."

He took a deep breath. It felt odd to call his parents by their real names but if he was to fit in and avoid that clearly inevitable straight jacket, he had to pretend. He had to make sure that nothing he did or said was enough to make people guess.

"They sound nice. You know, unicorns are mythical creatures like Leprechauns."

"Oh my god," she cried suddenly, Lord Tubbington almost growling at the lost contact. "Rory Leprechaun, you are amazing. You should meet him. He'd love you and your big hair. I am positive that it's where Kurt keeps his secrets and wisdom, in his hair. It's so poofy and huge."

It was difficult not to laugh. The serendipity was too overwhelming, too much to handle as his heart swelled to almost double the size. Little did she know.

"So this club, they meet at McKinley, right?"

She nodded, beginning to braid the thick hair at the cat's chin. "Yes. We meet every single day. You could come because, well, nobody can see you anyway except me."

It was a perfect chance to meet his parents and experience life in 2011. He'd stick with Britt and follow her when he could but he'd hide out and keep out of the way in case he meddled with anything. Watching Marty McFly disappear in that picture hadn't been fun. Although Kurt and Blaine weren't his biological parents, he didn't want the other potential version of his life to come true – the one where he was shipped from kid's home to kids' home with people patting his head and telling him 'it'll happen soon'.

"I'll come see you at school tomorrow, if that's ok?" She nodded wildly over Lord Tubbington, who scrunched up his nose, and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

"That's amazing. I get my own magical friend that I've always dreamed of. Now, come on," she tugged him up, her legs and arms so graceful as she pulled him towards the door, "let's go set up and you can help me with this dance I have to choreograph for tomorrow."

* * *

><p>He hadn't really known what to expect from McKinley High but the reality was far more frightening than his imagination. His school – his future school – was ok but he wasn't <em>happy, <em>so to speak. It hadn't been so easy to fit in what with being adopted, Irish, quirky, skinny, awkward and having two gay dads. It didn't really equal popularity but he knew it was who he was. He had to hold onto that and be proud of it because he was never going to change.

There were bullies – of course. Every school had them but he'd managed to fly under the radar as far as serious taunting was concerned. They knew his Grandpa was important. They knew he had a school teacher for a father and, of course, the whole story of his links with the Irish mafia and their underworld dealings hadn't done any harm. Little white lies couldn't hurt.

It all seemed too strange. No matter how far back in time he'd gone - and it was around fifteen years if his Math lessons and endless hours of watching Doctor Who had paid off – schools just hadn't changed. As he walked down the corridor, heart pounding at the prospect of walking straight into the sixteen year old versions of his own family, he couldn't help but stare open mouthed at the idiots who walked by.

Some crazy fellow in a mullet shouted something derogatory but he didn't flinch because Brittany was close by, her red and white uniform still making her look incredible, beautiful and, oh god what he'd give for one _proper k_iss.

It was wrong but it was the awkward part of his brain that screamed '_Rory, you're fifteen. You're supposed to have irrational hormones'_ fighting with the sensible and somewhat numbed part of his brain that accepted the time travel and explained carefully that _'no Rory, you shouldn't be having inappropriate thoughts about a woman who will, in years to come, babysit you_.'

It was confusing but the one thing that _was _simple was the pull towards her. She'd keep him safe in the crazy world he found himself in and, hopefully, when he was about to fall apart in front of his own parents, she'd be there to smile and it'd all be ok.

He felt for his hat, smiling as the felt lining rubbed against the pads of his fingers. What else could he have worn?

"Top'o the mornin' Brittany!" She smiled sweetly, leaning close and his heart skipped a couple of beats. She was so lovely.

"First of all, you look magical and amazing, but I don't understand what you're saying so if you want to make it in this land then you need to speak English."

She was utterly serious. _Jesus_. As disconcerting as it was to realize that Aunt Brittany had always been kooky, he knew he had to play along. He couldn't drop his guard now.

Leprechauns. Magic. Wishes. Toadstools. Enchanting lands filled with pixies and fairies and –

"How's your first day at school?"

"Aye, it's grand!" He cringed inwardly. It was one Irish cliché after another but she wasn't to know – she was convinced that no other soul could see him so if invisibility was within her grasp then she'd never notice his overzealous attempt at channelling his inner Emerald Isle.

"Hey Irish." It happened just like that. A tall guy with hair tied like a rat's tail, all long and hanging miserably, knocked his hat flying. He looked a real demon, all tall and full of self importance, which meant only one thing – there'd be more of the teasing, more of the nicknames and, of course, the blatant derogatory Irish references were going to come thick and fast. He'd done it before, he'd do it again but, knowing people like these morons, it was a surprise that 'Paddy' hadn't been slipped in there somewhere. Wearing green possibly hadn't been the wisest decision in the world. Something ached inside because things truly didn't change, no matter what time you were from.

Even thinking like that was weird.

He watched the idiot laughing to himself as he walked the length of the corridor but Rory barely had a chance to think before Brittany turned, picking up his hat. She leaned close, eyes filled with wonder. "Wait, other people can see you? But only because you let them see you?"

_Come on, Rory_. He had to stick with it - keep the story going. She was so gullible, in truth, that she'd surely still believe. She had to. Nobody else would be so kind to him. Nobody would understand. He _needed _her. "That's right."

"I thought about it a lot and I know what I want as my first wish."

As she explained her desperate need for marshmallow-only Lucky Charms, his mind raced. He could do it – anything to keep her near – and she'd love him more, maybe even let him kiss her and he'd _still _be able to remain safe. Something deep down tugged hard, his brain tucking away any worries of being stuck in the past. She would save him. She was special.

He rambled off a whole load of stereotypical Irish nonsense and she bought it hook line and sinker, smiling and leaning in for another kiss. That was _two whole kisses_.

Just as his line of sight became much sweeter, – _that uniform as she walked – _another moron with a haircut even his Uncle Mark couldn't have pulled off, pushed him hard, his back coming in fast contact with the grooves of some poor soul's locker.

Something flickered in his mind, memories of throw away comments his dad had made. He'd rolled his eyes, mumbling '_well, at least it beats being tossed into a dumpster or body checked into a locker'_ and treated it as if it was a joke. Now that he thought about it, though there'd had always been something dark behind those words. There was a black kind of humour there – always.

Could he have suffered the same thing?

There seemed to be an overwhelming amount of 'Neanderthals – to steal his dad's coined phrase – at McKinley High and surely being gay hadn't been easy for him; Grandpa had mentioned how they'd had a tough time and Uncle Finn had once talked about being made to feel a loser in High School... and that's when a third (_oh he'd lost count_) wave of realization hit hard.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Hey, little dude!"<strong>

**Rory watched as a shadow fell over his homework and smiled, turning around in a split second. "Uncle Finn! What are you doing here?"**

"**Babysitting," he frowned, "but yeah, how about we call it hanging out. Sound good?"**

**Frowning, Rory laughed to himself. There was something inherently patchwork and mismatch about his entire family; he was an adopted Irish kid living in America, his fathers were gay and married to one another, his Grandpa was married again to Carole and her son was his Dad's friend from school. It was a blessing that he cared very little for biology.**

"**Yeah, sure." As if the weight of the world toppled onto his shoulders, Rory slumped down into his Math book with a groan. "I'm no fun today."**

"**Hey, bud," Finn laughed, flopping down in the nearby chair. Rory glanced over out of the corner of his eye, noticing that Finn was still wearing his shoes and said shoes were less than scrubbed clean. It was a toss up between speaking up to alleviate the inevitable melt down his Dad would have or zipping his mouth shut and enjoying the fall out. "What's up?"**

**Teamed with the crazy, complicated family tree came dynamics that only an Irish family could be truly proud of. None of them had a drop of Celtic blood but they did well to adhere to the stereotype. Watching Uncle Finn and Kurt argue was always something to look forward to. **

"**Girls."**

**Finn laughed, shifting in his seat. They'd grown close in recent years and although there was a long standing running joke in the family that Finn was, as the Brits would say it, 'a sandwich short of a picnic basket', he was also a good listener and took away the awkwardness of talking to your parents about 'stuff'. **

"**Ouch. What about them?"**

**Rory looked up, forehead wrinkling from the aching pain in his chest. "They hate me, Uncle Finn. I mean, am I, um, am I going to be, you know...? Am I going to alone for, like, ever?"**

**The cogs turned in Finn's brain for a moment, slow but purposeful. "Did I ever tell you about me and Auntie Rachel?"**

"**Nah," Rory sighed, using his arms as a pillow and turning to face Finn. "Dad, I mean Blaine told me some stuff but he said Kurt knew better. They know too much, I think. They won't tell me about you guys at school."**

"**Well," Finn shook his head, eyes rolling in amusement, "I guess we were stupid kids back then. But Auntie Rachel and I didn't get together right away. We had tons of problems. I went out with Quinn, you remember her?" Rory nodded, mind bringing up images of a slim blonde lady with the world's most mesmerising eyes. "Well, I sucked with girls. I mean, sucked, dude. I loved video games and playing the drums and stuff like watching NASCAR and football. Then girls came along and they're confusing, Ror. I mean, you already know that, right?"**

**With another pained sigh, Rory nodded. "She's just so pretty and nice."**

"**I feel you, dude." Finn reached out, smiling, to offer a comforting pat on the back. "Rachel was kinda weird and intense. She talked too much, bossed everyone about and was like **_**really **_**selfish when she wanted to be but I was a douche sometimes too so we were both just stupid kids. Then someday I, well, I guess I fell in love with her then bam! That was it. She liked me too but it wasn't all happiness from then on either. We had tons of problems, Ror. I mean, there was Puck this guy we went to school with who cheated on both of my girlfriends including Rachel. There was this whole thing with a guy called Jesse and then he came back and then I lost us Nationals at the show choir competition 'cause I kissed her in the middle of our performance. Everyone was so pissed at me. It was on Youtube when that was **_**still**_** cool and it got a crazy amount of hits. But what I'm trying to say is, being a teenager sucks. It's hard. Things never go the way you want them to."**

"**Cheers for that, Uncle Finn. Exactly what I wanted to hear." He scowled, burying his head in his arms. Finn chuckled, letting his arm drape across Rory's shoulders, warm and steady. "Dude, you know what you need?"**

"**What?" Rory glanced up, eyes red and tired. That was the **_**thing. **_**He always felt so exhausted and school made it so much **_**worse.**_

"**Victoria's Secret."**

"_**What? **_**You... Uncle Finn, if they find me with" he whispered, hushed so as to lessen the feeling of taboo, "**_**porn or as good as **_**then I know Dad, I mean Kurt, will make earrings from your toes and a coat from the skin off your back."**

**Finn laughed loudly. "Ror, dude. Me and your Dad have been through way worse than that and I think you've earned it, really. I mean, I won't tell if you don't. Every kid needs an outlet and girls will happen at some point. Don't push too hard and just be yourself. Girls like that."**

"**Really?" **

**Finn nodded, sitting back. He winked and reached for his car keys. "So, you gonna sit and pretend you understand all that Math stuff or are we gonna go take your mind off how much school sucks?"**

**That was all it took. The impish grin teased at his lips and he was done for. Uncle Finn was a genius no matter what anyone said. "I'm in. Just promise you won't tell me dads because, I'm telling you-"**

"**Hey, chill. You keep the fact I didn't kick off my shoes on the down low and I'll never speak a word of this to anyone. Deal?"**

**With a skip to grab his cardigan from the hook next to the door, Rory grinned. He could feel the giddy weightless feeling start at his toes and travel upwards until he nudged his Uncle's arm playfully. "Did I ever tell you your name's really Irish? Like, from Ireland?"**

"**My mom's from Toledo, dude. You're the only Irish here."**

**Finn pulled the door opened and shepherded them both out, grabbing fondly at Rory's shoulders. The breeze was cool on his skin and as they closed the door, Finn pulling him along with a mischievous smile, Rory couldn't help but giggle and breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in days.**

* * *

><p>It was like Christmas and every birthday came at once. He could find Finn and then he'd have two people who'd be able to help.<p>

It all felt so lonely. He couldn't very well shout out in the corridor that he was from the future and beg for help; he couldn't seek out his dads and tell them he was their adopted son in fifteen or so years. He definitely couldn't entertain confiding in a teacher because they'd ship him off somewhere secluded. The hollow empty feeling of being truly alone ached inside as he clung to the rim of his hat, hands shaking a little.

Being around Brittany was like staring straight into the sun but as soon as she was gone, what did he have? Nobody knew him and even she was certain he was a concoction of her own imagination so that wasn't even fully permanent.

Surely Finn would be there for him. He could flesh out his fake story, give himself a last name, a family, a background that could pass as believable and maybe Finn would buy it and stay close by. He could be his friend. Uncle Finn could keep him safe like Brittany, only he was bigger and much more solid. He'd stop all of the name calling and pointless violence.

It was only a matter of time before that all spiralled out of control. He had nothing to bargain with in this time. He couldn't assert any kind of power against the bullies because what did he have?

Nothing.

With a deep breath, he started to walk in the direction of the exit. He'd find Finn just as soon as he'd granted Britt's wish. Finn had explained how much he'd messed up, how lost he'd felt at school so surely if anyone was going to understand the ghost-like feeling of being entirely alone in a foreign place, it was Uncle Finn. He'd be oblivious, of course; he'd just see some weird Irish kid but Rory closed his eyes and reminded himself of what his Dad often said – 'Courage'. Safe in the knowledge he was doing the right thing, he clutched at his bag and walked straight out of the main doors.

He had some shopping to do.

* * *

><p>Sitting alone in an abandoned class room was almost <em>fun<em>. Not only was it a chance to think straight without the worry of slipping up or altering the entire course of history, he felt rebellious watching the other kids rush to their next period. He peered out, neck craning to watch them and eavesdrop on their conversations. A guy wheeled past in a wheelchair pushed by a tall boy in a dark coloured t-shirt and boots; they were laughing, gestures so wild that the chair swerved across the corridor and into the wall, which seemed to make both of them dissolve completely into offensively loud giggles.

It was as Rory watched them – laughing infectiously – that someone caught his eye. He was walking in the opposite direction with only his shoulders and head visible in the crazy student onslaught. His shirt was red, checked like a tablecloth, with dark tamed hair just like –

It couldn't be.

He hadn't prepared himself – he realized that immediately as he almost stumbled forward, grabbing the door frame, his knuckles whitening. The boy walked slower than most of the other kids with his hands tight around the strap of his brown leather bag and head bowed only slightly. It wasn't until he reached his locker that the boy's face became visible. Dark eyes, dark hair and a smile that crinkled just like –

"Blaine! Hey!"

Rory gasped, chest inflating as he ducked to hide behind the door. Slowly, he peered out, his skin prickling with wonder and fear and anticipation.

"Hey, you. Nice hat," Rory heard him say gently. He leaned back into the lockers, smiling fondly and gently but to whom?

With a sharp intake of breath, Rory peered further out and in a second felt the hot sting of tears at his eyes. He'd notice those boots anywhere. Prince boots to be precise.

"Finished it off with a ribbon myself." Kurt spun on the spot with a flourish. "So, of course, it's fabulous. Anyway. I need to talk to you about the flyers for West Side Story. Do you want to work on them in the library at lunch? Just you and me?"

"Alone in the library, huh? _Really, _Kurt." Blaine's eyes were playful, flirty but entirely zeroed in on Kurt who seemed to bask in the attention for only a second before straightening up. Rory bit his lip, half uncomfortable and the other half mesmerised because it truly could not be real. They were so young. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up, slowly adjusting to the sheer craziness of being meters away from his teenage parents.

"Blaine Anderson, we don't have time for frivolous fun. We have a musical to save and, _yes, _it will be you and I alone in the library but we'll be working diligently to ensure I get that credit on my application for NYADA. Clear?"

They hadn't changed one bit. He watched as Blaine smiled, biting his lip in amusement as he turned to slide out his books. "If you say so," he sighed and it was so quiet that Rory knew he was leaning too far out, too close to being seen.

Kurt nodded briskly. "I do. Come on, you can walk me to Spanish."

As they moved away, Rory watched as their hands brushed gently between them and smiled. There was something so wrong with the fact that they didn't just hold hands like he'd seen them do almost every day in the future, but as they turned the corner, he watched as some loser of a football player set alight to another kid's beanie hat and he didn't blame them one little bit.

They were protecting themselves; the worst thing was going to be finding out what from.

They seemed so wise, so knowledgeable and moulded from experience even at fifteen and he sighed, a feeling of belonging filling him up from the very tips of his toes. They were the best and to be able to spend time with them and learn how they happened to reach the point of saving a young kid's life – _his life_ – was a miracle. Even if he did have to live in a padded cell for the rest of his existence.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ tbc<strong>_

_**The best thing is to go watch the scenes now ;)**_

_**Some people have asked about Sugar/Harmony. I know all of the amazingly crazy things that have been on tumblr etc and the whole Sugar/Brittana thing is adorable and frighteningly perfect but I don't intend on writing any of that. I've got my hands full with Mr Flanagan so, as lovely and silly as the rest is, I won't be writing it.**_


	3. Chapter 2A

**Title: **Make It In This Land (2A/6)  
><strong><span>Word Count<span>: **~2,800 this chapter  
><strong><span>Characters:<span>** Kurt/Blaine, Santana/Brittany, Finn/Rachel (both future and present!) and cameos... and of course Rory!  
><strong><span>Warnings:<span>** AU (kind of) with touches of canon. Cracky (and hopefully heart warming) ridiculousness. Time travel.  
><strong><span>Rating:<span>** PG-13  
><strong><span>Summary:<span>** What if Brittany was a future scientific time travelling genius? What if Kurt and Blaine had adopted a young Irish boy in a Children's Home in America? What if that boy was Auntie Brittany's favourite? What if one day he walked the halls of McKinley High circa 2011?

**Author's Notes**  
>Still the crackiest and most ridiculous thing I shall ever write. Pot 'O Gold is the main canon we have for Rory so it's going to take a little while to get through it for it all to make sense which is why this chapter is in 2 parts to complete that. After that, it'll all follow the main events in canon but it'll all be brand new to this story and <em>plenty <em>of K/B - I can't wait. Dodgeball killed me to write.

An enormous thank you to **canuckpagali** who truly does get rid of my silly mistakes, seriously British ways and who is a truly brilliant beta. Also, to all of you whohave responded so kindly to this story and waited patiently for this - I've had spotty internet and a lot on my plate. I promise a much quicker turn over for the rest ;)

**FYI:There's a tense change for the remainder of this story due to the fact I didn't predict there'd be that much of a difficult distinguishing between the past and present. This makes it easier and I'll go back and change the rest later : )**

* * *

><p>He's seen Back to the Future and, god knows, it's the coolest movie in the world. But having the weight of the world or, to be precise the weight of the future on his shoulders is terrifying. He has no connections – not really. Nobody owes him anything in this time.<p>

While , in some ways, that idea is enough to spark thoughts of throwing himself under the school bus, it's also pretty great. Being so free of baggage and commitments means that he can just _live. _Nobody needs him for anything and so, sitting alone in a darkened class room sorting through a box of Lucky Charms while other poor miserable-looking students plough through Trig problems, is bliss.

As the amount of marshmallows begins to outweigh the rest of the contents of the box, there's a presence in the room.

As if by magic or, some secret time travel law that says you must bump into your own relatives and completely alter the course of time and history, Rory blinks rapidly rising out of his chair like a marionette puppet on steady strings. He's staring, wide eyed with his mind fuzzy from the shock because it can't be real. It just can't.

"Finn Hudson."

He can hear himself, almost out of breath with awe. His uncle, whom he knows as an older guy is standing straight in front of him with an uncomfortable smile and a distinct sense of awkwardness. He's asking questions and it's as if someone has pressed fast forward. Rory knows he's speaking, knows his mouth is moving and whole sentences are coming out before his brain has a chance to catch up. The stress is coursing over his whole body and it's like being in midday sun – hot and hard to focus.

Flanagan. It's his mother's name. It makes sense, the authenticity of it ringing true and feeling so natural on his tongue. There's a niggling realisation that it's the first time he hasn't used his real name. Hummel-Anderson is his true identity but it hardly screams Irish, plus even the densest of minds – like his Uncle's – could work out the connection from that surname alone. Oh god, the thought of Finn attempting to plough through the mine-field of time travel...

It's almost worth the inevitable hilarity.

As soon as the words are out, though, it starts to feel good – fine, even.

Finn's so adolescent. In hindsight, he's still a lummox – as Carole always called him – and a giant – as Blaine always referred to him – but his face is smooth, crease free but, still present, is his trademark lopsided grin and vacant expression and it's amazing.

It's what makes Rory take a deep breath, returning to his task. He has to be natural, cool even. It's hard to focus, hard to keep picking bloomin' marshmallows out of cereal bits. Whoever decided that _this_is his life needs their brain scanned - immediately.

It's one thing to be tens of years in the past before he was even a glint in his father's eye - whoever the devil he is - but to be sorting through cereal in an abandoned classroom with his much youthful Uncle as his teenage parents are currently no doubt trying to stay awake in class... well it's like a bad made-for-TV movie.

He can't pull off Marty McFly's awesome ways.

It's _not_make believe. It's reality and, with that thought, he blinks up and smiles as Finn Hudson is looking between him and the table in deep rooted confusion.

That's when it all becomes easy. It spills out effortlessly and he's suddenly and expertly lying as if it's his job. In a way, much of it is true, some if it is a bent version of the truth, and the rest is inserted purely because it's Uncle Finn. The NASCAR, the Victoria's Secret, the casual mention of the kiss at Nationals. It's all falling so freely from his tongue and, jesus, Uncle Finn looks as if he's about to self combust from the confusion but it's with those three words - "cool, me too" - that everything feels _right_. It's like nothing he's ever experienced because although Uncle Finn is still very much lacking in common sense and his dad - Kurt - finds it impossible to resist a cautionary eye roll whenever they're together, Finn is also so so kind. He's the coolest Uncle a kid could ask for because he remembers only too well what it's like to be young and useless, how much things hurt, and how easy it is to make mistake without really meaning to. His dads are amazing but they're also so good at being grown up. They're the right side of serious with a perfect injection of warm and fun and, at times, spontaneous.

Uncle Finn, though, is just a big kid and always, _always_will be.

That's why Rory feels his entire body sing with happiness when Finn agrees to be friends. He knew it. Of course Uncle Finn would recognise the loser in him, would find a common ground in just how lost Rory feels. He doesn't have any friends, unless he counts Britt and, well, he'd like to be a little more than that if he's honest. For that reason, he spills it out, rambling because Finn does too. They talk about guy stuff and there's no awkward moment where the conversation freezes and inner monologues scream for silence.

"It's a pretty old brochure, dude," Finn says, half smiling at the revelation that Rory's lonely. It's true in a lot of ways. He has nobody and sitting directly in front of him is the one person he needs now, more than ever. It's the 'dude' though, the very same affectionate term Uncle Finn uses – in the future – at the end of most - no all - sentences. Rory smiles, his skin flushing warm with familiarity.

There's a twang of self awareness but only for a moment . Finn's eyes widen dramatically, his 'rabbit in headlights' expression only momentary because there's talk of snogging and virginity and _then_, because Rory knows he has one shot and one shot only, he asks for a friend and the slow moving cogs in Finn's brain ease into action. The hesitation stings for a second because if his own family can't stick by him and be his guiding light then who will?

Rory waits, fingers moving of their own accord from the table to the cereal box then back again, and hopes.

"Ok. I'll be your friend," Finn agrees eventually, a tiny smile spreading across his mouth, smooth and almost knowing.

It's still a shock to hear it but it's a bright and shining second of gratitude for a boy - who is, for all intent and purposes, a stranger - to agree to be friends with a pretty forward kid fishing marshmallows from a cereal box.

That's Uncle Finn though - he's a good guy under it all.

"You're staying at Britt's house, right?"

Rory nods, unsure where the query is headed. Of course, the Glee Club are all a big group and spend countless hours a week together. He's spent most of his life hearing stories of their time together and feeling so achingly jealous, so desperate to have that too.

Aunt Rachel has cuddled him, pressing him close to her heart, and whispered that finding a place to belong was the cornerstone to life and true happiness. She hadn't specified performing, though, as he's not the world's most talented dancer or actor but finding a niche in the world was her most outstanding skill. She'd sought it out her whole life and his dads often took him to see her shows, Kurt wiping secretly at his eyes whenever she hit a high note.

He's wished for that for a long time. He sucks at sport, hates math, cringes at the thought of science club and hasn't ever found a talent for art. But he likes to write sometimes; he's spent his entire life singing and he has an impressive stack of library of books so there _are_ things he has a passion for, not to mention his love of history and travel, not to mention teenage girls in all of their fine glory. He has always wanted to learn a new language. There are times when his dad – Blaine – will spend a few hours teaching him cool Latin phrases, which he has used on many an unsuspecting young lady but it never works. He always means to ask Kurt to teach him some French but the purpose of wooing would be far too obvious so he's never plucked up the courage.

Parents just don't need to know that kind of thing.

Finn's clearly got an agenda. It seems that there's defections within the club, people threatening to leave and Brittany seems to be part of it but it's hardly an option to disagree to Finn's terms. He'll do anything to stay by his side and call him a friend so he nods with firm agreement.

As Finn stands to leave, it's a lot like desperation flooding through his veins, forcing him to speak and make it all last a little longer. It's too tempting but it's their running joke - the one even future Uncle Finn hasn't yet figured out is a jab at his cluelessness.

"Finn Hudson. That's Irish, right?"

"Nah. Nah, my Ma's from Toledo." Just like that it's the world's most impossible task to keep a straight face as his lips spread into an enormous smile. He has a friend and he's going to be ok.

* * *

><p>It's too tempting to sneak a peek into the library at lunch. They don't have to see him but there's that niggling desperation deep inside of him that yearns to see them. It's the comfort blanket he needs to keep him going because, god knows why he's still here and how he's going to get back. The car's hidden, of course – he'd learned at least <em>something <em>from Marty McFly – but Auntie Britt hadn't exactly given him a crash course in travelling home. As far as he was concerned, they were playing one of her whimsical games.

_Some game_.

It hits home especially hard when he peeks around the stacks to find his parents - his very young and in love parents - leaning against one another at a computer desk buried in the far corner of the library. It's a sight he's used to, one they adopt when they're discussing something or having a 'parental' moment but as Blaine's fingers walk along Kurt's arm in over-exaggerated slow motion, they suddenly don't seem _at all_ parental.

"Blaine!" Kurt hisses, his face betraying him instantly with a gleeful smirk. "We're not in your room now! We're in the middle of school. You know? The same school that practically patented the art of dumpster tossing."

"Hey," Blaine soothes, hand now coming to rest gently against Kurt's arm, "it's just nice to spend time together. That's all."

There's a moment of brief silence but Kurt sighs and turns his head with a soft smile. "I know," he says with a voice so affectionate that Rory can feel himself _clinging _to the book shelf. He's been the recipient of that tone, the one that his dad – Kurt – uses when he's being reassuring and comforting. It brings back memories of scraped knees, lost friendships and that horrible period where nobody at school had the decency to talk to him. Having very few companions was tough but he was the odd one out; he was the guy nobody picked for football teams and he'd always been exempt from almost every club available.

He'd never had a place, not like the kind Aunt Rachel had spoken about. He'd always been so envious of what they'd all shared together at school no matter how dramatic it all seemed – he wanted that. All of it.

"So. How are we going to get these all printed up?"

Kurt's expression is smug and knowing as he purses his lips cleverly. "I happen to be on rather good terms with the librarian. She positively _adored _our performance of MC Hammer's infamous hit last year so I have a feeling it'll only take some genial eyelash fluttering and a little compliment from my extremely charming boyfriend and we'll be set."

Blaine laughs; his eyes are so _young_. In the future, they're still so deep and full of his trademark sincerity but they positively sparkle when they are directed at Kurt. It's clearly because it's all still so new for them.

Rory wonders, as his dads pack up and head for the librarian's desk, how long they've been together and exactly what they've been through. He can remember a lot of their stories but the timeline is vague.

A pang of excitement is the catalyst to allow him to peel his fingers from the shelf and head out to find Britt. He has a box filled entirely with marshmallows and the promise of yet another kiss.

* * *

><p>There's a moment when he comes painfully close to turning catatonic with shock.<p>

He's rounding the corner after another of the truly inventive school bullies decides to shout 'Danny Boy' and launch him into a near-by locker when he hears it.

It's a voice that he has grown to love with all of his heart.

* * *

><p>"<strong>He's in his room," Kurt calls down the stairs as the wind chime they'd bought as a family from a market on vacation, tinkles a melody, signalling that the front door has opened.<strong>

"**He all set?" comes the voice from downstairs. It's the voice Rory has spent the past three days desperately waiting to hear; the excitement is now almost difficult to bear.**

"**I'm as set as a set person who is very, very set!" Rory calls back, answering the question himself. He bounds to the head of the stairs with a smile he knows could potentially split his face. **

"**Hey," Kurt warns, appearing from his workspace with raised eyebrows and threads covering his overalls, "now I'm warning both of you right now. If anyone comes back with so much as a scrape, you'll have me to deal with and you **_**both **_**know what I'm talking about. Be good. Be careful." He presses a warm hand to Rory's chest and it's like being cuddled and chastised all at once.**

"**Dad," he sighs, frowning, "we're going fishing. It's hardly **_**dangerous. **_**Anyway, we're always careful, right Grandpa?"**

**As if on cue, Burt rounds the corner, rolling his eyes. "Kid, I know my son and you may as well quit while you're ahead. Just nod," Rory obeys, tinkering on the edge of laughter at Kurt's indignant smirk, "smile and grab your bag 'cause I left the keys in the car."**

"**Ok. I want you to find a signal when you get there to let me know you arrived safely. I want a text or two during the trip so Blaine can fall asleep instead of pacing the floor, wondering if you've slipped on a mossy rock or drowned and are tangled in the weeds." He looks pointedly at Burt before continuing. "I **_**don't **_**want to know what you consume because no matter what it is, I'll never approve and Rory, I need you to use that plastic bag I put in your backpack for dirty wet clothes. Put them alongside the one good shirt you're taking and I'll go psycho dad on you. Am I clear?"**

**Burt laughs first, shaking his head. "I created a monster."**

"**Crystal clear," Rory deadpans, fighting a smile. "Maybe I can bring a souvenir back for you?"**

**A softness drifts into Kurt's expression, his smile melted and warm. "Bring your Dad back an odd shaped rock or something to add to his collection. You know how he gets about sappy things like that."**

"**That's **_**your **_**box of special things. You told Dad you started it way back in high school."**

"**Ok. Enough of being too smart for your own good," Kurt smirks, huffing out his exasperation. "Go. Both of you and remember what I said."**

**As Rory reaches the bottom of the stairs, he grins as wide as physically possible towards the best Grandpa in the world. No research or data is required to decide upon that fact because Burt Hummel would win that award hands down and could do so with his eyes shut. For goodness sake, he's spent years winning over the voters' hearts and he has never taken any of them on annual fishing trips.**

**Rory can't help but laugh, still dragging his bag behind him, as Burt tugs at his shoulder and ruffles his hair much like he would a dog. "Come on kid, let's hit the road."**

"**Bye, Dad!" he calls because he has spent years witnessing Kurt's forlorn face, the same one he tries to pretend doesn't exist. There is no time for a reply as the door closes with a click and he's off for a week long forest adventure full of endless bags of marshmallows, dunked heads in algae-laced river water and a whole new list of secretly learned curse words.**

* * *

><p><strong>~tbc<strong>


End file.
